Of Closets and Meddling
by Mitsuara
Summary: Optimus Prime systematically locks 'bots up together. Because if they aren't going to get together on their own, he's going to shove them in the right direction. Multiple pairings. Covered Prowl/Jazz and Inferno/Red Alert so far.
1. Of a Tactician and a Saboteur

**Hi Petra! I'm about to leave for your party, so I can post this! _Finally. _This pleases me. Anyway, happy belated birthday, and I hope you enjoy the slash. :D**

* * *

Optimus Prime firmly believed in the concept of freedom for all sentient beings. This meant that he felt, despite the war they were in, that all the mechs under his command should be able to lead their own, personal lives. Lives that were exempt from his meddling.

However, if his second and third in command continued to dance around each other the way they had been for the past- slag it, it had to be at _least_ five vorns now- Optimus feared he'd have to do something drastic.

Like lock them in a closet and not let them out until they'd both gotten over their own obliviousness and figured out that the other did, in fact, like them back.

…Actually, that wasn't a half bad idea.

Prowl was going to kill him.

* * *

The tactician sighed and pinched the bridge of his olfactory sensor, a gesture he'd picked up from Chip. And he'd been having such a good day too.

He'd come out of recharge early, as he normally did to get a head start on the day's work. About four breems in Jazz had poked in, bearing a wide grin and two cubes of energon.

It was a habit the saboteur had got into shortly after they'd crashed on Earth, as Prowl so frequently forgot to refuel himself. They always chatted amiably for a few breems, smiles and laughter coming easily. Prowl was quite fond of the Porsche's company, and often found himself wishing for more than their close friendship, but he never pushed. He had no desire to ruin what they had.

Jazz had swung back the last of his mid-grade, sang his goodbye and waggled his fingers in a wave before prancing out the tactician's door. Prowl had nodded his goodbye, gentle smile on his face as his optics tracked the black and white mech's aft on its path out.

The Praxian had been happily working his way through a stack of data pads when Prime had commed him, asking Prowl to come down to the semi's office. He'd made it about half way there before Optimus popped up at his shoulder.

"Sir?" Prowl's doorwings twitched, betraying his confusion, "This… isn't your office."

"No," Optimus agreed, tapping in a code to open a small storage closet in the wall, "It's not."

Prowl frowned, "Then…"

The tactician's frown deepened as the door slid open, reveling an equally looking confused Jazz. Prowl had just opened his mouth to ask what was going on when he was shoved from behind. Jazz brought up his arms to catch his friend as he stumbled into the closet. The door slid shut behind him.

"Sir!" Prowl cried, freeing himself from the Polyhexian's hold and whirling to face the door, ignoring the yelp from Jazz as his doorwings smacked him in the face.

"Prime!" Prowl called, pounding on the door.

"Don't think he's letting us out, Prowler." Jazz commented, running a servo along the bottom of one of his friend's doorwings. The panels fluttered slightly before Prowl turned to face Jazz, wincing at the unholy shriek of metal on metal as they scrapped against the closet walls. There was _not_ very much room in here.

"What is the meaning of this?" the Praxian scowled, arms crossed under his bumper.

Jazz shrugged easily, "Pit if Ah know."

Prowl's scowl deepened, "I have work to do. I don't have time for this."

"Maybe this is Prime's way of sayin' ya need a break." Jazz grinned.

"There are better ways of doing that than locking me in a storage closet." Prowl deadpanned, "He is the _Prime_, he could have simply ordered me to take a break."

Jazz snickered, "Because that worked so well last time," the Porsche patted his friend's arm, "Just relax and enjoy the surprise vacation, Prowler," the saboteur leaned back, soft classical music slipping from his speakers.

"Surprise vacation in a _storage closet._" Prowl grumbled.

That was when the Datsun become aware of just how small the aforementioned closet really was. Even with Jazz leaning against the far wall and Prowl's back pressed against the door –his wings flared up and out of the way- they were much too close. Prowl shifted uncomfortably, but discovered that even the slightest movement on either of their parts would rub their chassis together pleasantly. They both managed to repress any shivers that may have caused, but Prowl thought he saw something flash in Jazz's visor. Maybe. He couldn't do this. He _couldn't_ be stuck in this tiny closet with Jazz, not when he could feel the ghost of the saboteur's ever ventilation on his plating, and see the smooth curve of a bumper in the half-light cast by their optics. Jazz's visor was over bright as he grinned, seemingly amused by the whole situation. That was all well and fine for the Porsche, _he _didn't have work to be getting back to. (Actually, when Prowl thought about it, he most likely did, but it wasn't going to get done anytime soon, no matter where the black and white was, storage closet or otherwise.)

Doorwings twitching, Prowl opened a comm. line to Optimus.

"Sir."

Jazz clapped a servo over his mouth to keep from laughing. Prowl saw the movement and glared, trying to ignore the way the appendage brushed his chassis on the way up. Jazz let a few giggles escape. Prowl's voice was so dry, he thought the desert outside the _Ark_ must be jealous. That was the tone he used when reprimanding the _twins_, not when talking to his leader.

Optimus seemed to realize that, "Ah, yes Prowl?"

"Would you care to explain why you've locked Jazz and I in a closet together?"

"Um, no?"

"With _all due respect _sir," the way Prowl ground out those words implied the exact opposite, "I have work to be doing. I'm sure Jazz does as well, regardless of how good he's become at avoiding it. Work that is essential to the smooth running of the _Ark._"

"I've handed your duties over to Trailbreaker for the duration of your stay in the closet." Optimus was starting to sound less like a guilty sparkling and more like the matrix-bearing, Autobot leading Prime he was, "And Mirage is taking care of things for Jazz."

"_What?_" Prowl nearly shrieked, doorwings hiking higher against the door, "Sir, last time Trailbreaker took over my job-"

"I've talked to him. He assures me that he will not be putting Gears and Sunsteaker on patrol together again."

"Fine. _Fine._ Just- when will you be letting us _out_ of this closet?"

"When you've accomplished what I've put you in there to do."

"…But you won't tell us what that is."

"Nope. Prime out."

"What? Prime!"

Prowl glared at Jazz's chassis, but the Porsche figured the look was meant more for Optimus than him. He slung an arm around the Praxian's shoulders, negating the already miniscule space between them.

"Aww, cheer up Prowler!" he grinned, "We're on vacation!"

Prowl crossed his arms, "We are stuck in a closet for the foreseeable future."

"Potato, potahtoh."

"I don't even know what that means."

Jazz flapped a servo at Prowl, "Never mind. Human sayin'." His visor lit up, "Ah know! Let's dance!"

Prowl frowned. He knew the saboteur liked listening and moving to music, but this was ridiculous.

"Jazz, there is hardly enough room in here to move normally, let alone-"

Jazz gave it a try anyways, arms wrapping around Prowl's waist and swaying slightly. All he really accomplished was scraping some of his paint off on the walls and sending pleasurable tingles through Prowl from the feel of black servos on the small of his back and a warm chassis flush with his own.

"-dance." Prowl finished, sounding strangled.

Jazz laughed breathlessly, letting his helm drop to rest on Prowl's shoulder.

"Well that didn't work." His arms didn't move from around the Datsun's waist.

"I'll say." Prowl snorted, doorwings fluttering slightly. He had no idea what to do with his arms. Should he put them around Jazz, or would that be overstepping some invisible boundary? They felt awkward just hanging by his sides listlessly. Prowl could feel the warm air from Jazz's ventilations against his necking tubing, the sensation causing him to shudder slightly. Hesitantly, the tactician brought his arms up, wrapping them loosely around the saboteur. Jazz shifted slightly, pressing closer. Prowl's doorwings shuddered. He hadn't thought they could've been closer, touching in more places, than they had before. Then again, Jazz always did like to prove him wrong on matters of possibility. Their hips were flush together and the Datsun could feel one of the Porsche's deliciously smooth thighs pressed between his own.

Jazz tilted his head up at gaze at Prowl, glossa poking out to run over his upper lip.

That was _it._

Prowl grasped Jazz's chin and brought his face up just enough so that the Praxian could swoop down and claim the saboteur's lips with his own. Jazz's grip around his waist tightened as the Porsche kissed him back eagerly. Prowl moaned at the rush of warmth and heady excitement of _Jazz kissing him back,_ bringing the servo on his friend's chin up to cup his face and running a thumb over the pliable metal of his cheek. Jazz ran his glossa along Prowl's bottom lip and the Datsun eagerly granted him access, playing his own glossa against the one now plundering his mouth. The Polyhexian's glossa felt _wonderful_, running all along his denta, tasting every inch of his intake. Jazz whimpered and pulled back with a gasp.

"Ah've always wanted to do that." Jazz beamed, glossa running over his lips to collect any lingering traces of Prowl.

"Me too." The Datsun smiled softly, resting his forehead against Jazz's. The saboteur's smile grew, if possible, even wider. Prowl managed to contain the crazy grin that wanted to split his face, but his doorwings practically vibrating on his back betrayed his glee. Jazz wasn't pushing him away! Jazz liked him _back!_

The black and white saboteur smirked, servo's stroking up from Prowl's waist to run over his doorwings. The tactician moaned, pushing the panels forward to give Jazz better access, access that the Porsche gleefully took advantage of. He pressed open mouthed kisses along the length of one doorwing, stroking along the over with a servo.

"Ah always wanted to know _just_ how sensitive these things are." Jazz murmured against the metal. Prowl threw his head back as his cooling fans roared to life, servos grasping at Jazz's chassis.

"Ah wonder," the Porsche continued, stretching his head up to engulf the tip of one wing with his warm mouth, massaging the metal with his glossa, "If Ah can get ya ta overload just by playin' with your doorwings? Ah think that could be a fun experiment, don't ya?"

"Primus." Prowl breathed, servo's scrabbling at the saboteur's shoulders, "-Jazz!"

* * *

Bluestreak paused in the middle of the hallway, slight frown gracing his faceplates. He'd been on his way to monitor duty, which was strange enough. Prowl _always_ arranged the schedule so that Bluestreak wasn't stuck on monitor duty, the SIC knew his fellow doorwinger had trouble concentrating on the screens for long periods of time. Not only that, he'd been partnered with Cliffjumper for the shift, and it was common knowledge that the minibot quickly got annoyed with the sniper's constant chatter.

He'd been too busy puzzling over the strangeness of at all to pay much attention to his surroundings, but he came to a stop when a low moan reached his audios. Bluestreak turned to face the direction the sound came from. A small door greeted his optics, one that would mostly likely open to an equally small storage closet or the like.

The moan came again, followed by a small gasp.

Bluestreak poked at the control panel for the door, only to find it locked, and only someone with Prime-level clearance could open it. That wasn't good. It sounded like someone was hurt, and he couldn't get in to help them! Not sparing a thought for how a 'bot could have got there in the first place, Bluestreak opened a comm. line to Optimus.

"Yes?" The Prime prompted.

"Optimus Prime, sir!" Bluestreak started, "There's a storage closet here and it's locked and it can only be opened with your codes, but there's moaning coming from behind the door, and I think there's a hurt 'bot, and he probably needs help but I can't get in to help him 'cause it won't open for me and I'm really worried sir, I-"

Bluestreak was shocked out of his rambling when Optimus chuckled.

"Don't worry Bluestreak, I'm sure Prowl and Jazz are just fine."

The Datsun shuttered his optics. Fine? How could they be fine? They-

"_Jazz!"_

"_Uh, so hot like this, Prowler."_

Oh.

_Oh._

Wait.

How had Prime known Prowl and Jazz were in there?

* * *

Optimus grinned as he ended the comm. with Bluestreak, though his battle mask hid the expression from the wall he was directing it at. So shoving two 'bots into a closet _did_ yield results. Who knew?

The grin grew even wider as he opened a comm. line. Well, if it worked for Jazz and Prowl…

"Red Alert, Inferno, could you two report to my office, please?"


	2. Of a Security Director and a Fire Truck

**Well, you convinced me, here's Red Alert and Inferno. If anyone would like to request a couple I'll see what I can do with them, just as long as it doesn't involve Ratchet or Wheeljack, I've got plans for them. ;)**

* * *

"Red Alert, Inferno, could you two report to my office please?"

Red Alert frowned as Optimus Prime ended the comm. Didn't his leader know he was watching the monitors? He couldn't very well _leave_, an intruder could sneak into the base if he wasn't being as diligent as possible! Not to mention Bluestreak hadn't shown up for his shift yet. The Praxian was a whole breem late! Maybe he'd been captured? Or maybe he was a Decepticon spy, off feeding them information while they all sat here twiddling their thumbs! Red Alert had to do something! He could comm. Optimus back, tell him-

Cliffjumper glanced nervously over at the security director, whose helm had started sparking and depressingly familiar blue color. He looked a few clicks away from a full blown paranoia attack.

So, of course, that was exactly when Bluestreak walked in.

"Um, sorry I'm late Red, see, I got –distracted," the gunner's doorwings fluttered slightly, "I ran into Prowl and Jazz –well, not really, they were, um, in a closet." He paused, "Some 'bots just won a lot of credits."

Red Alert shuttered his optics. Okay, false alarm. No need to panic.

"I don't want to know. Prime has called me to his office. I-" his optics flitted, "Trust I can leave you two in charge here?"

Bluestreak saluted loosely, "Of course!"

The Lamborghini nodded, turning and leaving the monitor room before he could convince himself otherwise.

00000

Optimus Prime was panicking. He probably should have checked for a suitable closet _before_ calling Red Alert and Inferno down to meet him, but he'd just been so excited to put his plan into motion. Honestly, he'd been sure the _Ark_ had _tons_ of closets, but apparently he'd been wrong. Well, half of the ship _had_ been destroyed in the crash. That wasn't important now though, either he needed to find a closet _stat,_ or he needed to come up with a reason for summoning the lambo and the fire truck.

He'd gone down the hall wrenching open doors, but all the closets he'd found had been too full of crates and the like that he didn't have enough time to move. One he'd opened had been the one he'd shoved Prowl and Jazz into. (The fact that he had to input his code to get it open should have tipped him off, but he wasn't really thinking at the moment.) They hadn't noticed him, but he'd gotten _quite_ the optic full. Optimus hadn't even _known_ it was possible for a 'bot to bend like that, especially in such an enclosed space, but this _was_ Jazz. He lived to redefine 'possible.'

Prime had shut that door rather fast.

The only untried doors in the hall lead to his second and third in commands' quarters. Optimus studied one door before shrugging. It wasn't like they were using them right now. He tapped in his code to Jazz's door, which flashed back a cheerful 'access denied.' Figured. Prowl's quarters, however, had no problem letting him in. Excellent.

And just in time too, as he glanced up to see Inferno making his way down the hall.

"Prime." The fire truck greeted, nodding.

"Hello Inferno." Optimus smiled.

"Can I ask why you've called us?"

"I'd like to wait until Red Alert is here."

Inferno nodded, leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

It was just under a breem later that Red Alert came around the corner, constantly lancing behind him.

"Please make this fast sir. I _do not _like leaving Cliffjumper and Bluestreak in the monitor room unattended."

"I'm sure they're doing just fine." Optimus commented as he opened Prowl's door, gesturing for the two 'bots to enter first. Red Alert frowned as he entered, optics darting around the room.

"Sir? What are we doing in Prowl's office?"

"Connecting."

Inferno cocked his helm, "Connecting? Prime, what do you-"

The door slide shut and Optimus tapped in his locking code.

"-mean."

Red Alert's optics brightened, "Prime? _Prime!_ What are you doing? Prime!" the security director whirled to face Inferno, optics and horns flashing, "Inferno! We have to get out, we have to tell someone! Megatron must have replaced Prime again!" Blue sparks leapt from the security director's helm, "Primus! What if _Optimus Prime_ is a traitor? Oh Primus, we have to-"

"Red!" Inferno shouted, breaking through the Lamborghini's tirade, placing a firm servo on his friend's shoulder, "Calm down."

"Calm down? _Calm down?_" Red Alert shrieked, grasping at his sensory horns, "The _Prime_ just locked us in Prowl's office and you expect me to _calm down?_"

Inferno sighed and tugged his friend closer, running a soothing servo up and down his back strut. Red Alert latched into the fire truck like a limpet.

"Prime, sir?" Inferno rumbled over the comm. line, "I hope you had a _very_ good reason for sticking us in here, because Red is fritzing something fierce. _You_ will be explaining to Ratchet why he has to defrag Red's processor."

"Oh. Um, I'll –come let you out."

"You do that."

The fire truck sighed, ending the comm. as Red Alert pressed his face plate harder into his friend's chassis. Inferno placed a gentle kiss on the Lambo's helm.

"Optimus is gonna come unlock the door, okay? And then he's going to explain just _what_ exactly he was thinking."

Red Alert nodded, whimpering slightly. The presence of his larger friend was comforting, as always. He felt protected in Inferno's arms, he _knew_ the fire truck would never do anything to hurt him or set off his glitch, like the rest of the Ark seemed determined to do. Optimus fragging Prime had locked him in an office, for crying out loud, if that didn't cause him to glitch up, he didn't know what would.

Inferno's engine rumbled slightly and Red sent back an answering purr.

_Thank you._

The door buzzed slightly as it slide open, revealing an extremely sheepish looking Prime. Inferno glared at him over Red Alert's head.

"Wanna tell us why you decided to stick us in here?" The fire truck rumbled.

"Well, I figured if it worked for Jazz and Prowl-"

"Worked for what?" The Lamborghini asked shakily, raising his head from his friend's chassis.

"Um." Optimus rubbed a servo over the back of his helm, "Snapping the blatant sexual tension between you two?"

Inferno shuttered his optics, "What."

"Are you saying we have blatant sexual tension between us?" Red Alert asked, arching one optics ridge.

"Um," Optimus shuffled from pede to pede, "Yes?"

Inferno glanced down at the security director, who was still pressed up against him. He _had_ harboured feelings for the red and white 'bot for quite some time, but he'd never planned on_ acting_ on those feelings. He didn't want to scare the paranoid mech away. He just wasn't aware he'd been so obvious in his affections.

"We'll be going now." Red Alert announced, grabbing Inferno's servo and tugging him out of the office. The Lambo glared at Prime on the way out. Optimus chuckled nervously, as he watched them make their way down the hall, Red practically dragging Inferno.

00000

"Do we have blatant sexual tension?"

Red Alert had dragged Inferno all the way to the security room before stopping outside the door. It did not escape the fire truck's notice that the Lamborghini had yet to drop his servo. He paused at the question.

"What?"

Red Alert frowned, "You heard me, 'Ferno."

"Well Prime sure seemed to think so."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"What do you want me to say?"

"A simple yes or no would suffice."

"Um, no?"

Red Alert titled his helm, peering up at his friend.

"That's good." The security director used his grip on Inferno's servo as leverage to pull himself up just enough to press his lips to the fire trucks.

"Tension is bad." He smiled shyly as he pulled away a click later.

Inferno reset his optics, "You-?"

"You're always there for me," Red Alert murmured, burying his face in Inferno's chassis, "Even when I'm glitching, and everyone else wants nothing to do with me. You're always protecting me."

Inferno brought his free arm up to hold Red against him.

"'Course I am. You're worth protecting."

The Lamborghini's engine rumbled softly and he lifted his face up, optics glowing. Inferno dived down placing a chaste kiss on his lips. Red Alert surged back fiercely, destroying the chastity almost instantly as his glossa begged entrance. Inferno's engine growled and Red Alert half stumbled half was pushed up against the monitor room's door. The security director purred right back, free servo running over Inferno's chassis, exploring the smooth metal. The fire truck freed the servo Red Alert was grasping and brought it up to stroke one of the Lamborghini's sensory horns. The red and white mech gasped, grabbing at Inferno and falling back further against the door.

So of course that was when Bluestreak opened the door.

"Oh!" The Praxian squeaked and jumped backwards as Red Alert fell backwards, dragging Inferno with him, "Um, hello."

"Hello." Red Alert responded, "I trust you and Cliffjumper are managing?"

"Ah, yessir." Bluestreak shuffled nervously. Cliffjumper peered curiously around the Datsun, snorting when he saw Inferno straddling Red Alert. The fire truck scrambled to get off the Lamborghini, offering a servo to his friend (cum lover?) Red Alert grinned, grabbing the servo and letting himself be pulled up, using the momentum to press up to Inferno and cuddle into his side. Bluestreak giggled.

"Aaaaaaand my shift's over." Cliffjumper announced, rather loudly and leaped up from his seat, "I don't want to sit here and watch you two be all lovey-dovey. Good bye."

"Um, should I leave?" Bluestreak's optics flickered between Inferno, Red Alert and the retreating minibot.

"You may go, Bluestreak." Red Alert smiled.

"Right, well, see ya." The Praxian called, beating a hasty retreat.

"Now," Red Alert purred, turning to face Inferno, "Where were we?"

000000

"Hey Prime!" Jazz chirped, sounding tired, but happy, over Optimus' comm. line, "As great as four overloads in a row are, they do get kinda tirin'. Wanna let us out now?"

Optimus gave a small smile, shaking his head, "I'll be right there, Jazz."

0000

"See if I ever do your paper work for you again." Prowl grumbled. Jazz laughed.

"Oh, you loved it Prowler."

"It would have been far more enjoyable had we not been locked in a closet."

"We're out of the closet now." The Porsche leered.

"And you are insatiable."

"Yet you love me anyways."

"I can't imagine why."

Optimus shook his head at his two officers. Well, at least it had worked for them. The semi cocked his head, maybe if he tried again, but with a different pair. One with 'bot's less excitable than Red Alert… yes that could work.


End file.
